The Search

Cassandra didn't sleep.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her fingers wrapped around the pendant at her throat. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the apartment. The overturned furniture. The bullet holes. The voice.

Who's there?

She'd told her grandmother everything except the man. Something held her back. Some instinct she couldn't explain.

The morning light crept through the curtains, pale and gray. Cassandra finally sat up, her body aching with exhaustion. She dragged herself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. Her reflection stared back—dark circles, pale skin, haunted eyes.

You're fine, she told herself. You got out. No one saw you. You're fine.

She didn't believe it.

---

The kitchen smelled like coffee and toast.

Evelyn stood at the stove, her movements slow and deliberate. Her hands trembled as she reached for the kettle. Cassandra watched her grandmother wince, watched her bite her lip against the pain.

"Gran, sit down. I'll do that."

"I'm fine." Evelyn's voice was tight. "Sit. Eat."

Cassandra sat. She couldn't argue. She was too tired.

They ate in silence. The toast was dry in Cassandra's mouth. She forced it down anyway.

"Gran," she finally said. "Last night. Mrs. Delaney. The bad news—"

"Nothing for you to worry about."

"Gran—"

"I said nothing." Evelyn's voice cracked. Her hands shook so badly she dropped her teacup. It shattered on the floor, ceramic shards scattering across the linoleum.

Cassandra jumped up. "Gran, are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine." Evelyn bent to pick up the pieces, her fingers trembling.

"Don't—let me—"

"I said I'm fine!"

The words hung in the air between them. Evelyn's chest heaved. Her eyes were red, glassy.

Cassandra knelt beside her, her heart aching. "Gran, please. Talk to me. Whatever it is—"

"I can't." Evelyn's voice was barely a whisper. "I can't tell you."

"Can't tell me what?"

Evelyn shook her head. She stood slowly, her joints protesting. "I'm going to lie down. I'm tired."

"Gran—"

"Just let me rest, Cassandra. Please."

Cassandra watched her grandmother shuffle toward the bedroom. The door closed with a soft click.

She was alone with the broken teacup and a thousand questions.

---

Cassandra cleaned up the mess and checked the window.

The black SUV was gone.

Her heart should have felt lighter. Instead, the absence felt wrong. Like the calm before a storm.

She grabbed her backpack and headed for the door. School. Work. Normal life. She'd pretend everything was fine.

---

Dante sat in his office, staring at nothing.

The girl's face haunted him. The way she'd run. The fear in her movements. The necklace around her throat.

He should assign his men to find her. Should have them track her down within hours. But something stopped him.

She was scared, he thought. She ran. Like she didn't belong there.

Like she was an innocent.

I'll handle it myself.

He stood, grabbing his jacket. His phone buzzed—Marco. He ignored it.

---

The flower shop was small and unassuming.

Bloom & Petal sat wedged between a dry cleaner and a coffee shop, its windows filled with colorful displays. Dante parked across the street, watching.

A bell chimed as he pushed through the door. The woman behind the counter looked up—gray-haired, sharp-eyed, wary.

"Help you?"

Dante approached slowly. "I need information about a delivery."

"Delivery?"

"Yesterday. Gold Coast. White orchids."

The woman's face tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me."

His voice was flat and cold.

The woman's hands trembled.

"Look," she said. "I don't want any trouble."

"Then tell me who placed the order."

The woman hesitated. Dante watched her weigh her options. She was scared. Good.

"Online," she finally admitted. "Prepaid card. No name. No contact information."

"Who delivered it?"

"A girl. Cassandra. She works here part-time."

Dante's heart slammed against his ribs. Cassandra.

"Where can I find her?"

"I don't know. She has classes. She'll be in later—"

"Give me her address."

The woman shook her head. "I can't just—"

"Give me the address. Or I'll shut this place down tonight."

The woman's face went pale. She scribbled an address on a piece of paper and shoved it across the counter.

Dante took it. He turned and walked out.

---

He sat in his car, staring at the address.

Cassandra Hayes.

He'd found her.

His phone buzzed again. Marco.

"What?"

"The attacker talked," Marco said. "Someone hired them. Wanted the girl dead. Wanted the necklace."

"Who hired them?"

"He doesn't know. Intermediaries. Multiple layers."

Dante's jaw tightened. Someone powerful was behind this. Someone smart enough to cover their tracks.

"Keep digging," he said. "I want names."

"Understood. What about the girl?"

"I'll handle it."

He ended the call. The address burned in his hand.

Cassandra Hayes.

He was going to find her. He was going to keep her close.

And he was going to use her to draw out whoever was hunting her.

---

Across the city, Cassandra sat in her maths class, staring at the board.

She couldn't focus. Couldn't think. The formulas blurred together.

What happened yesterday?

Who were those men?

Why won't Gran tell me the truth?

The questions spiraled, endless and suffocating.

When class finally ended, Cassandra gathered her things and walked toward the door. Her phone buzzed. A text from Patty.

Someone was here. Asking about the Gold Coast delivery. Asking about you.

Cassandra's blood went cold.

Who? she typed back.

A man dark, on suit.

Scary.

He took your address.

Cassandra's hands started shaking. She looked up, scanning the hallway.

Everyone seemed normal. Students laughing. Professors walking. No one watching.

But she felt it.

Eyes on her.

She started walking faster.